


In the Name of the River Rocks

by mercurysensei



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:17:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4398797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercurysensei/pseuds/mercurysensei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his hour of greatest need, Sanada finds a worthy blade.<br/>[Concepts taken from Noragami. Warning for Shinto inaccuracies.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Name of the River Rocks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fulminata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fulminata/gifts).



“KIRIHARA!” Sanada screamed and thrust out his palm as he leapt from the tall apartment building. His stomach swung up into his lungs and dropped just as quickly. His feet hit a triangular rooftop and sent clay tiles crashing to the ground stories below.

Sanada clenched his empty palm. Kirihara had been a long shot anyway.

“Mighty Sanada-sama, God of the Nameri River Rocks,” Atobe smirked down at Sanada from the height of the apartment buildings. “A more appropriate title than your last.

Refusing to dignify that mockery with an answer, Sanada stood firm. “This isn’t your territory, Atobe. Return to your shrine.”

“The thanks I receive for helping a fellow god?” Atobe chuckled. “As if you could fell even a mid-size phantom with that toy of a knife.”

Atobe wasn’t wrong, but Sanada didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Hmmm,” Atobe unfurled his sword arm. “Kabaji.”

“Usu,” said Kabaji, the tall, strong man in Atobe’s shadow. In a burst of light, Kabaji disappeared. A long, gem encrusted broadsword appeared in Atobe’s hand. Though the sword seemed to weigh more than Atobe, the God of Wealth did not appear labored.

Atobe jumped ferociously. Kabaji caught on the sun to blind Sanada, who was too good of a swordsman to fall for that trick. He caught the heavy blow on his worldly blade. Compared to Kabaji, the carefully crafted metal was little more than a decoration.

As such, the first blow of _Hametsu no Rondo_ snapped the precious blade in two. He saw it coming, but being swift like the wind wasn’t swift enough to evade completely. Sanada was mid-jump when Kabaji caught his arm just barely; enough to slice through his flesh like butter. If Sanada were not a God, his arm would be lost.

Forced to retreat, he tumbled off the roof and landed in a pile of broken tiles on unusually soft ground. When his eyes finally focused, he noticed the white net in front of him.

A tennis court.

He clawed at the court and grit his teeth. Weapon or no, he hadn’t lost yet. Digging deep for strength, he reached for the net to pull himself up…And nearly crushed a floating ball of white in his palm.

An uncorrupted spirit. In an infected area, no less. How could this soul, no larger than a bundle of dandelion seeds, hold up against the still open phantom vent?

Sanada did not have time to dwell on this. After all, here was a strong weapon, just when he needed it most. He reached out his bleeding sword arm and extended a single finger to breach the circle.

The tennis court faded into another tennis court. A larger one, with bleachers, decks up to the clouds, and young men in collared shirts as far as the eye could see. Sanada looked over the net with the spirit’s eyes and played tennis as him. Though he felt this body’s movements as he would his own, he wasn’t in control.

The moment slipped into another. And another. Court after court, challenge after challenge, collecting trophies like bits of metal in a giant chest. He understood now. The court meant nothing, the opponent meant nothing, and even the prize meant nothing. He just wanted to play. He just wanted to play badly enough to bet on a risky surgery rather than waste away slowly.

Sanada watched the scene. He watched a young, weak looking boy bleed out on an operating table.

An uncorrupted spirit could only be born from an indomitable will to live. In the darkest of nights, an operation from which he would never wake, this spirit fought to remain. Fought to remain and stand on the court just one more time. This was –

“Yukimura,” Sanada said aloud. “I am the God, Sanada. Fight for me.”

The stands and the people disappeared, leaving them alone on some tennis court together. The wind caught on Yukimura’s yellow jacket and billowed the hem up to reach back toward Sanada.

“Win with me,” Sanada implored.

Yukimura turned. His smile was the most beautiful weapon that Sanada had ever seen. A fierce katana imbued with the weight of Yukimura’s resolve appeared in his hand.

When the scene faded, the opponent across the net was Atobe.

“How nice,” Atobe smoothed his fingers along Kabaji’s length. “You've found a friend to come play with your rocks. If you leave now, I suppose I’ll let you to such an existence.”

Sanada assumed his fighting stance and stared Atobe down. The pain in his sword arm no longer felt real. Not when he had the joy of holding a worthy katana in his hands. The spiked blade Kirihara had been a truly fearsome weapon to behold, but not one that felt natural for him to wield.

“Come, Atobe,” Sanada taunted. 

Atobe never disappointed. At the very least, the god preferred a worthy opponent to feasting on the weak ones. With Kabaji in position for a powerful swing, Atobe charged. Sanada cried out and swung Yukimura up to strike against him. The collision sounded like an explosion. Sanada’s feet slid back on the court and Atobe flew backward into the broken fence. Kabaji’s defensive strength prevented the attack from blowing him to pieces, but the same could not be said for the collapsing office building behind them.

Sanada’s arm felt like it might drop off at any minute now. The screams from the crumbling building couldn’t move him. Yukimura, pleased to unleash his pent up rage, burned in his hand. This wasn’t right.

Using Kabaji for balance, Atobe pulled himself to his feet. He sneered at Sanada and said, “Decide whether it's a toy or a bomb that you desire, Sanada.” Atobe swung Kabaji up onto his shoulders and turned toward the destruction. “Regardless, things will be a little more interesting from now on.”

Atobe saved the mortals. In his current condition, Sanada can only retreat to the closest safe shrine.

-

Sanada and Yukimura were fortunate to not encounter any phantoms on the way to the shrine. If they had, Yukimura might have destroyed both the phantom and a city block with a single swing.

On entering the grounds, Sanada quickly approached the water ablution pavilion. The water stung his wounds as they cleansed and healed them. Though the ritual was more effective with phantom inflicted damage, he felt some relief.

Yukimura had assumed bodily form the moment they crossed into the shrine. It seemed only fair to give the young spirit some time to get used to his new body. As he suspected, Yukimura stood beneath one of the shrine’s strongest trees to wade in his thoughts. Since his death, the spirit had only been able to live in his memories.

This wasn’t memory, but it wasn’t a truly normal existence either.

Sanada sighed. A pair of legs swinging down from the roof interrupted his musings.

“Looks like Atobe couldn’t properly hack off your arm. I can finish it for you, if you like?”

“Echizen,” Sanada said evenly. “Where is Tezuka?”

“Heh, shouldn't that be _Tezuka-sama_? You don’t have a shrine of your own anymore, right?”

“A lazy weapon should address me more formally.”

Echizen shrugged, conceding only slightly to the point. “He’s meditating.

“I see,” Sanada eyed Yukimura under the tree. He wanted to speak directly to the spirit, but he didn’t seem ready.

Waving a hand, Echizen said, “Go. That guy won’t leave the shrine.”

Sanada raised an eyebrow. Echizen either had something planned, or he was interested in Yukimura. Sanada tipped his hat and started up the stairs to Tezuka’s home. He stopped for a moment beside the money box to consider an offering.

“There’s no need,” Tezuka said as he proceeded down the stairs. The hem of his kimono brushed the ground but never seemed to dirty. “Your injuries?”

“I’ll be fine. There’s another matter I’d like to speak to you about.”

Tezuka bowed his head slightly. “Tea, then,” he turned back up the stairs. Sanada followed him to the building and slipped out of his shoes.

-

That was the sun. Definitely the real warmth the real sun burning his face. The real wind tossing his hair around. Real dirt clinging to his hospital clothes.

Yukimura wanted to pull at the dirt with his own two hands to bury that sick gown for good. Unfortunately, it didn’t feel quite right to walk around a shrine in the nude.

A real incoming object threatened to hit him in the face. Yukimura couldn’t have been more glad. He put out his hand and caught the thing easily. It was cool and slightly wet to the touch: a soda can.

“We drink too,” a boy said. The short, barefoot boy wore casual jinbei and held a can just like Yukimura’s.

“We?” Yukimura repeated. He pulled the can’s tab and it opened. “Who are you?”

“Ryoma. I’m a weapon, like you.”

“Mmm, I suppose even Gods need kitchen knives,” Yukimura smiled and took a sip from the can. It was grape; disgusting, but delicious at the same time because he could _taste_ again. “These bodies are real, you’re saying.”

“Yes and no,” Echizen didn’t seem particularly bothered by the kitchen knife comment. He sat in the dirt and drank his soda. “We need to eat, sleep, and piss, but we’re not alive in the same way as everyone else.”

Yukimura frowned. “I’m alive.”

“Kinda. You’ll have this consciousness as long as you’re Sanada’s weapon.”

“And if I stop?”

“Either you’re released and you become what you were before,” a pure spirit that can either be snatched up by a worthy god or swallowed by phantom presence, “Or you die.”

“I’ve died already.”

“Heh, I thought you just said that you’re alive.”

Yukimura fixed the boy with a look. Echizen smirked as though he could taste the bite of Yukimura’s blade.

“You can’t go back to your old life, you’re right. But this one isn’t bad either,” Echizen crossed his arms behind his head and relaxed on the dirt ground. “Try not to lose it.”

A loud scream interrupted Yukimura before he could tell Echizen off. His worries only remained for a moment; they were in a shrine and the cry did not seem wretched.

How did he know that he was safe, just because he was in a shrine?

“KOSHIMAE!” a small redhead all but flew up the stairs to jump on Echizen. He sat on Echizen’s stomach and looked at Yukimura. “OH hey, who are you? I’m Tooyama Kintarou! Are you Koshimae’s friend? Has he been hiding you?” the boy leaned in real close to squint at Yukimura.

“Yukimura Seiichi,” he smiled. “I’ve been hiding myself. Koshimae-kun has nothing to do with it.”

“Echizen,” Echizen corrected, and shoved Tooyama off his stomach to fall over Yukimura’s lap.

Tooyama wasn’t daunted. He flipped onto his back and grinned up from Yukimura’s thighs. “You can hide yourself? Show me! We can play hide and go seek. You can be on my team and we’ll beat Koshimae!”

Yukimura laughed. “That sounds fun. I’ll make you disappear with me.”

The smile on Tooyama’s face dropped. “I-I don’t want to disappear.”

“You’ll disappear if you don’t behave, Kin-chan,” a voice spoke pleasantly. A light haired-man approached them. Though he wore a gentle smile, he held the end of his forearm bandage between battle-hardened fingers. “You forgot to purify yourself again. I wouldn’t want to have to poison you…”

“I’m sorry, Shiraishi! I’m sorry, sorry!” Tooyama jumped up from Yukimura’s lap and grabbed Echizen by the collar of his jinbei. “We’re gonna clean ourselves up really really well, I promise!”

Shiraishi released his bandage. “Tezuka will be very pleased.”

Tooyama beamed, glad to satisfy his god, and ran off to dunk Echizen face first into the purifying basin. 

“I’m sorry,” Shiraishi said. “They can be very excitable.”

Yukimura shook his head. He didn’t get the same sense from Shirashi that he had Echizen and Tooyama. “You’re a God.”

“Correct,” he smiled. “You could say I’m something of an agricultural God. I watch over growing things.”

“In that case, we have plenty to talk about.”

“Lovely, but let’s walk and talk,” he offered Yukimura a hand up. “You don’t want to stay in those clothes, right? Something of mine should fit you.”

Yukimura took that hand and smiled with relief. “I appreciate it.”

-

“So the strike destroyed the surrounding area,” Tezuka repeated to confirm.

Sanada nodded. “Atobe was thrown, but not direly wounded.”

“And Kabaji?”

Sanada read concern for the weapon in the subtle lines of the god’s face. Given Tezuka’s history, he took no offense. “Scratched.”

A weapon with that kind of blocking strength taking such damage in a single blow spoke volumes of Yukimura’s power.

“I see. You’re not here just to recover, then.”

Sanada shook his head. “We will not benefit from normal training at this point in time.”

“Aa. If a single swing can fell a city block, you require an opponent with enough power to counter it,” Tezuka took a long sip of tea. For a moment, Sanada thought that his request would be refused for Echizen’s safety.

“Echizen is a new weapon as well,” Sanada admitted. If Tezuka refused, Sanada would accept that judgment. But it put him in a bind. He knew no other potential weapons to stand up to the kind of force Yukimura exerted. Though Tooyama had the strength to weather and counter the blows, he lacked the finesse to make it any more than a hacking contest. Shiraishi was still training with him.

Tezuka placed the teacup on the table. “Ryoma is growing.”

Sanada furrowed his brows. “Growing?” it was impossible for a weapon to grow. They remained the same as the day that they died.

But Tezuka refused to explain further. Sanada suspected that he saw a smirk on Tezuka’s face; then again, it might have been a trick of light from the crack in the sliding door. “We will spar with you.”

Bowing his head, Sanada said, “I am grateful.” Tezuka didn’t take putting his weapon at risk lightly.

“You may want to talk to him first,” Tezuka suggested.

“There is more than one way to have a conversation,” Sanada said. “Besides, I don’t want to hear such a remark from you.”

“Aa.”

-

“It’s no fair!” Tooyama protested at Shiraishi’s side. “I want to fight too! Why does just Koshimae get to fight?” he tugged on the God’s shirt, getting it all dirty.

“Yukimura-kun is learning how to fight,” Shiraishi said patiently and ruffled his weapon’s hair. “You should watch the spar carefully and give him pointers afterward.”

Sanada and Tezuka stood opposite of each other with Yukimura and Echizen behind them.

Tezuka put his hand out first to give Yukimura an opportunity to observe the process. “Echizen,” he called firmly. The spirit smirked and faded from sight. A breath later, Tezuka’s waiting hand was filled with a long, metal staff with a blade on each end.

It didn’t look so complicated, but Yukimura remained puzzled on _how_ he became the metal exactly. Not that he had long to think about it.

“Yukimura,” Sanada thrust out his hand. The call to battle filled Yukimura with a contagious, electric energy. Even when he settled, his form hummed with the leftover static from the transformative power.

Tezuka attacked first. This was unlike him, but Sanada understood the instructive purpose. “Focus on just putting out enough force to block him.”

Sanada offered no further instruction to Yukimura before parrying Tezuka’s horizontal swing. Tezuka wasn’t blown back like Atobe, but his feet skid along the ground and the weapon on weapon thwang lingered in the air longer than was natural.

It was an improvement. Only a few tree branches fell victim to the blow.

Faster this time, Tezuka attacked again. He struck with one side of the Echizen, then the other, and before Yukimura knew it, they were successfully combining attacks against Tezuka and Echizen. It took him a moment to realize that the wind pushing them back came from the oscillating and rotation motions of the spear.

Sparring wasn’t tennis, but some things remained the same.

Yukimura thought about his keen edge the same way he thought about the gut of his racket. Instead of using motion, he needed his mental fortitude to reflect his goal. Yukimura battled with fortitude and intent and Sanada with divinity and sheer physical prowess. Despite the barrage of hits and heavy weight of his own strength, he felt secure in Sanada’s hand. This grip, unmovable as a mountain, would not let him go.

With that security, it was time for them to go on the attack. Sanada understood.

Sword held low and at an angle to the ground, Sanada rushed Tezuka with a heavy upward strike. The God of Wind pushed Echizen down to receive it with a force that would surely break mortal fingers. Tezuka’s hair was blown back and a few tiles came loose from the roof. Echizen caught Sanada’s follow up and Tezuka expertly met his next turn. No move was unexpected from either side.

Because Tezuka was writing a pattern that Sanada could not quite shake, only follow for the present.

“From here,” Tezuka said to Sanada at the next deadlock.

Sanada agreed. He removed the unwilling Yukimura from the fight and bowed.

Echizen was equally unhappy. Though the spear wished to continue the fight, Tezuka held the spirit quite firmly in his arms. “Your condition?” he asked.

“Fine,” Echizen grumbled, squirming a little until Tezuka squeezed his lower thigh too tight in warning. “A little numb, but fine. You can put me down.”

“Go take a bath,” Tezuka ordered. Then, he acquiesced and set Echizen on his feet. The spirit huffed, somewhat mollified by the doting, and went to obey.

Sanada looked at Yukimura with something different than dotage. Rather than providing steady warmth, Sanada’s presence was like walking on a charged rug: a constant barrage of sparks at completely unpredictable intervals.

“Yukimura,” Tezuka said, stirring the new katana from his thoughts.

Yukimura inclined his head in a slight bow to the god. Tezuka handed Yukimura a plastic bottle with a Ponta wrapper on it; the liquid, however, was clear.

Satisfied, Tezuka dismissed him. “There is room for two in the bath.”

Not understanding but not willing to ask, Yukimura followed Echizen deeper into the small wooden establishment. A bath sounded wonderful.

-

“I’ve waited for my explanation long enough, Sanada,” Yukimura said, rolling over on the wooden porch to face Sanada. He noticed that the god sitting against building was only pretending to sleep.

“Hnn,” Sanada opened his eyes. He appeared torn; not over whether or not to tell Yukimura, but rather on where to even begin.

Yukimura’s gaze softened. “What are we fighting for, tomorrow.”

Sanada took a deep breath. “I am not sure how many years ago it was by human reckoning. Tezuka is the God of the Wind. At the time, he and his weapon, Yamato, were very powerful.”

“Is he not powerful now?” it surprised Yukimura. He could still feel Echizen’s strike in his bones.

“Tezuka’s power is…growing,” Sanada couldn’t tell whether Tezuka’s strength was greater or lesser than it had been. It was different. Different, but not less formidable. One day, it might even become more frightening.

Yukimura nodded for Sanada to continue.

“The God of Wealth, being who he is, desired that power,” to what end, Sanada wasn’t even sure Atobe himself understood. “They fought fiercely enough for humans to feel disturbances in nature. As the battle carried out, Atobe noticed a crack in Tezuka’s spear. He targeted it, and hammered away at Yamato with that axe of a sword until he shattered and perished.”

Sanada paused. Crickets filled in the void of their conversation.

“Weapons can die in combat too,” Yukimura said, understanding a little more of his conversation with Echizen.

“Yes,” Sanada confirmed. “Overall, it is frowned upon to kill a weapon, but every god and weapon views it differently.”

Yukimura tilted his head, spilling blue hair onto his shoulders. “And you?”

Sanada took his time to answer. “Yamato was an unfortunate casualty of desperation. A desperation that even Atobe regrets, I suspect. But god or weapon, any being that enters a serious fray should be prepared for the consequences.”

Yukimura agreed. To disagree suggested that Sanada was totally in control and Yukimura was just a third party sacrifice to combat. He refused to enter battle under such terms. “And how did this fight come to you?”

“I fought Tezuka once too, before Atobe. When I was the God of Lightning,” the battle had shaken the heavens for days on end, but Yukimura didn’t need to know that fact. “I was defeated fairly. My divine father removed me from my position.”

“And now you are the almighty god of the river rocks.”

“Of the Nameri river rocks,” if Yukimura would mock him, he might as well get it right.

“Atobe’s victory was frowned upon and you lost your status. As such, both you and Atobe need a rematch against Tezuka for your honor,” Yukimura ascertained quite correctly. Impressed, Sanada nodded. “But there’s one thing I don’t understand.”

“Ask.”

“Are you protecting Tezuka from Atobe to fight him exclusively, or out of desire to let him become a stronger opponent?” Yukimura asked. “Perhaps both.”

Sanada didn’t answer. Yukimura let him get away with faking sleep because, after all, both reasons were perfectly valid reasons to do battle.

Tomorrow, Yukimura would stand on the court once more.

-

Today, Yukimura would stand on the court once more. He only wished that he could have slept more to prepare for it. Naturally, he was too excited. He knelt in the shrine garden with a tiny pair of scissors and snip, snip, snipped through the sunrise.

Yukimura finished the job and started picking up the tiny bonsai leaves and twigs that had been trimmed.

“Oh my…”

Looking up from his task, Yukimura noticed Shiraishi. He hadn’t sensed the God enter the garden at all. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Yukimura-kun. But at this rate I worry for you having another,” Shiraishi held out his hand. “Give me those scissors. Kunimitsu is protective of his bonsai, and will be quite cross when he stirs from his meditation.”

Yukimura almost felt bad. “I can handle it.”

Shiraishi just continued to smile and reach for him. “Surely, but you already have one fearsome god to deal with in Atobe. Let me take this one.”

Because there was something trustworthy about Shiraishi that he couldn’t deny, he put the scissors in the blond’s hand. “I’ll leave it to you.”

“Thank you,” Shiraishi tucked the scissors into his obi. They stuck out just enough for Tezuka to notice them. “You’re doing me the favor, really. Don’t tell, but I like seeing Kunimitsu a little riled up,” the God winked.

Yukimura chuckled and wondered how different this existence would be if Shiraishi found him instead of Sanada. Then he was forced to imagine Sanada with Tooyama.

“Yukimura,” Sanada said, stepping out onto the wooden porch that overlooked the garden. “It’s time.”

Yukimura bowed to Shiraishi and departed the shrine at Sanada’s side. Unseen by the passersby, Echizen and Tooyama sat atop the large entrance gate and watched them go.

The more Yukimura thought about it, the more he wouldn’t want it any other way.

-

Sanada led Yukimura to the banks of his river. From there, finding Atobe was easy.

The great broadsword Kabaji in hand, Atobe shouted with the thrill of battle and cut a giant lizard phantom in half, between the eyes to between the legs.

“Sanada,” Atobe pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to cleanse the phantom guts from his blade. “What a pleasure, I was hoping that you’d come find me.”

“This is my territory,” Sanada repeated his words from yesterday. But unlike yesterday, he had the power to enforce those words.

Atobe dipped his handkerchief in a bottle of water. Wiping his sword in front of an opponent might be considered offensive in any other context; Sanada knew better. Caring for a spirit blade was different than the decorative polishing of fancy metal. The refuse from the phantom could eat through and corrupt Kabaji, if not properly washed out with purifying water. 

There was no longer any sign of Kabaji’s scratch. “Oh? Is it now? Are you actually able to protect it?”

“Yes,” Sanada said firmly. Yukimura stood behind him, watching with silent interest, until the god reached out his hand and called him by name. As he faded, Yukimura smiled. At last, he could do real battle.

Atobe returned the handkerchief to his pocket and assumed position. He predicted correctly that Sanada would rush him first, out of desire to defend his river rocks.

This time, Atobe was ready to receive Yukimura’s power. He brought the flat edge down on the rising cut of the katana. Waves rippled in the river behind them. But just being able to receive Yukimura’s attack wasn’t winning.

Sanada knew better than to press a katana to a broadsword in a deadlock. He broke away and turned to get at Atobe’s unprotected side. With quick thinking and fancy footwork, Kabaji intercepted Yukimura before any harm could come to his god.

Clashing against Kabaji’s will was very different fight than he experienced with Echizen. Tezuka’s spear had a multitude of desires wrapped around the strongest one of them all, to fight. Kabaji’s blade had just one clear determination: protect.

Both gods were skilled, having fought each other for eternity. Their movements were too fast for the human eye to even comprehend. But was Yukimura’s desire to win stronger than Kabaji’s desire to protect?

Yukimura fed his will with memories of the time he spent beyond feeling, beyond longing, and completely unable to move on. He refused to die here and he refused to lose here; both amounted to the same. Yukimura Seiichi lived for the fight, and he would never again live that meaningless existence.

Atobe’s eyes went wide. The silence coming from Kabaji was unlike any silence he felt from him before. Something was wrong.

Sanada struck like lightning. Atobe dropped the weakened blade to receive the strike to his side instead.

Atobe bled onto the grass at the bank of the river. Kabaji, reverted but unable to see or hear, groped around desperately.

Understanding something, Yukimura pulled out Tezuka’s bottle of purified water and pressed it into Kabaji’s hand.

“Thank you,” the broadsword bowed desperately. He poured the water over the serious wound and carried his god out of Sanada’s territory.

-

“I’ve decided,” Yukimura said as they walked along the river Nameri. “I don’t want to be your sword after all.”

To hear such a comment after the battle that they shared shocked Sanada to the core. He stopped walking, but Yukimura only smiled. His jacket billowed in the wind just like the first time that Sanada took his hand.

Sanada opened his mouth to speak, but Yukimura raised his palm in protest. “I’m going to become a god.”

“Become a…” Sanada’s eyes went wider than the rocks in his river.

“That’s right. If you’ll support me, I’ll be your weapon until we succeed.”

It wasn’t without precedent, but it was without course. There was no guessing the right path to becoming a god, no obvious opponent or mountain to climb.

“My support is a given. I do not know how to help you chart this process. However, I may know where to begin.”

“Oh?” Yukimura smiled and tossed a rock lightly in his hand.

“Yanagi Renji, a friend of mine. He has….” Sanada paused for the correct word, “…Inhabited a book shop for quite some time now. No doubt he’ll find your case interesting.”

“I see. Lead the way, _Sanada-sama_.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you!”

Yukimura laughed. Haloed in the light reflecting off the river, he was as stunning and sharp as Sanada had ever seen him.


End file.
